Being home is great but weird. I got home today in the morning, at around 9:30, and I walked in and saw that one of the couches was moved. Now it may sound silly that I pay attention to that, but it made me realize something: while I am gone, things happen in this house. Time does not just stand still and resumes the second I arrive. Things are bought, thrown away, ruined, moved, cut, changed. But at the same time, things are the same. I still know where the silverware is. I know where things go. There is no difference but there is a huge change.
This is basically what I feel coming back to my neighborhood. I remember where the nearest Sellers is at. I remember where the park is located. I know where to turn to go a certain way. But I also have the recurring feeling of being in the same streets, seeing the same houses, the same people… I love my neighborhood. I spent a huge part of my life here. However, I can’t stop but feeling a mix of emotions: feeling like an outsider yet feeling like I belong.
Maybe this mix of feelings came from leaving for college. Maybe it’s because I have grown, matured, and want more things. I drive through the streets of my neighborhood, feeling like I don’t belong, like I was never here before. Some of the local stores have changed, there is a renewed building near my street, but the two competing gas stations are in the same place, the same way they were two years ago. It’s not like I have not been here in these past years, because I obviously have. There is just something about it that I cannot pinpoint.
Anyway, as confused as I am, I love being home. Home is where the heart is and my heart is and always will be in Houston! Sitting in my living room, on these comfy couches that I missed, feels great… even though the single-person couch is no longer where it used to be. Home is home, and always will be.